Adaptation
by Kiamirei
Summary: When Trowa self-detonates, the other pilots find themselves in completely new situations. But Heero saves Trowa's life, and when he wakes up pilot 03 finds himself forced to deal with changes in his life, and finds unexpected friendship.
1. Default Chapter

Adaptation

By: Kiamirei

~I claim nothing. Feel free to send me your comments.

            Heero sat inside a stolen mobile home, watching the huddled figure on the only bed as he drank a cup of strong coffee. He was worried. The boy underneath the piles of blankets was shivering profusely, and tried to move often, only to cry out in pain as his broken limbs were jarred, and had not yet woken up, even once, even just for a few seconds. Would he ever wake? Briefly, the Japanese boy contemplated strapping the injured person down to restrict the erratic movements, but decided not to; even now, the invalid deserved his dignity. 

                "Damn it," he said softly, "you better live. You just better."

                Wing Zero's pilot had shocked himself when he found himself carrying the figure's shattered body away from the battlefield, and even more when he stayed up late into the night and woke up early each morning to tend the wounds of someone who might never open their eyes again. But Heero had found that he liked the other boy, had wanted his companionship. Wufei did, too, he knew, but the Chinese pilot had no debt to pay the wounded boy, unlike himself, and would be of better use fighting. Now that there was a chance that those emerald eyes would never open again, he found himself feeling empty.

                Sighing, he placed his head in his hands and continued gazing at the tormented boy. 

* * * *

Duo looked down bitterly at the OZ application forms he was filling out inside the apartment. Who was he kidding? There was no way he was going to succeed at convincing OZ he was just another recruit. Infiltration was not _his_ gig; Trowa was the one who should be doing what he was at that moment. _Should be_. But pilot 03 had finally gotten his chance to self-destruct, and had taken the opportunity with open arms. Duo was surprised by how much he missed the other, considering they did not know each other well at all. 

                "Oi. Wufei," he said to the boy sitting beside him, filling out the same forms.

                "What?" The Chinese pilot didn't like the deadness in the normally cheery pilot's voice.

                "Why the hell are we doing this?" 

                "You know why." 

                "Why can't Heero do it, or Quatre? Plus, you know that when we do get close enough to Lady Une or Treize to kill them, or by the time we get any valuable information, they'll most likely know our identities already." 

                "Stop complaining, Maxwell. Quatre could never pull this off on his own; he disapproves of these types of methods too much to convince someone that he isn't infiltrating." 

                "And Heero?" 

                "You _know_ that his mobile suit was completely totaled." 

                "Yeah…but still. Why would he need a mobile suit for this mission?"

"He'd never go anywhere without knowing it was available in case he got desperate."

"Why can't we do something different? I mean, we used to fight alone before, surely we can fight with just the four of us."

                "Three, until Heero fixes his mobile suit. You keep forgetting that. Also, when we tried fighting openly alone, or in just pairs, we quickly figured out that we didn't make much of a difference at all. Until the other two come back, we're going to do things this way, whether you like it or not. So stop being weak." 

                "That's assuming that they will come back. We know that Trowa is dead, and with a mobile suit that badly damaged Heero isn't going to get very far. He didn't even tell us where he was going. And where the hell is Quatre?" Duo was getting frustrated. 

                "He's traveling to the circus first, to inform Catherine of Trowa's injury. Then he'll go to protect Relena until we give him further notice. There's been a lot of Oz activity near her location lately, and there's already been at least one attempt on her life. He'll tell her, also, of Trowa's condition. Not that she really needs to know." 

                "You keep speaking as if Trowa's alive." 

                "He probably is." 

                "That's bullshit. Wake up to reality," Duo spat. He had seen far too many people he cared about die, and was not going to allow himself to keep any false hopes. Optimism was overrated. 

                "Heero didn't die," Wufei reasoned, "even though we all thought that he did."

                "Trowa isn't Heero, and unlike Heero, he self-destructed _inside_ of his gundam, with the cockpit closed, not standing just outside of it." 

                "That shouldn't make much of a difference." 

                "You know better. Face it, Wufei, Trowa's dead and we're just infiltrating because that's what he used to do, or in a desperate attempt to compensate for his death, or reconcile ourselves to that fact, or who knows what. He's dead, and he's not coming back." 

                Wufei looked away, coal orbs focusing out the window and on the moon, which was just rising over the sky.

                "Fill out those forms, Maxwell. I'm sending both of ours tomorrow, and if you haven't finished yours I'm going to finish them for you."  

                He walked out of the room

* * *

~:~:~:~:~

                _The mission was shot to hell. Wufei had known this only five minutes after the battle had begun. They were supposed to be destroying an OZ base because it had large quantities of Gundanium, but mobile dolls greeted them before the base was even in range. In fighting the mobile dolls –they had no other choice, of course, but to defend themselves- their cover had been blown, and more troops were coming at them._

_                "I hadn't anticipated this many," Trowa said._

_                "Neither did I," Duo replied, "But they're all going to fall to Shinigami anyway!" _

_                They continued fighting, but Heero's face popped up on Shenlong's screen._

_                "The other's can't hear me," Heero said. "Listen carefully. You know Trowa doesn't complain unless he's running out of ammo. I can't believe he'd make such a miscalculation, but we haven't been in a place for him to get more bullets and missiles for a long time. Try to keep some of the mobile dolls out of his way. Don't protect him obviously, though." _

_                Wufei had nodded, and Heero disconnected the line. A grim feeling took over. If Heero was asking him to help Trowa, the pilot must be in real trouble. How like Trowa not to say anything. Inch by inch they made their way closer to the base, determined to succeed, even though by now it was not only Trowa having trouble. The problem was made much worse when both of Quatre's sickles snapped, which had not been thought possible, and the pilot was now nearly weaponless. _

_                "Retreat, Quatre!" Duo said. "We'll take it from here!" _

_                "No! I can't just leave you guys!" _

_                "Go, you idiot! We're going to be fine." _

_                "Leave," came Heero's curt order._

_                After a moment's hesitation, the pilot of Sandrock complied, not wanting to be a burden, and they fought on._

_                When they were nearly at the base, another throng of mobile dolls surrounded them, and they once again had to use up precious time destroying them. Trowa's missiles cleared the way up quickly, though, along with Heero's beam cannon, and they finally arrived at the base. Immediately they started to destroy everything in sight while fending off the seemingly endless supply of enemies. _

_                "I'm out of bullets," Trowa informed them, and Wufei felt his heart sink._

_                "That's alright," Duo said. "Retreat." _

_                "No. I'll be fine, and I'm not asking for protection." _

_What he really meant was, "don't trust me to be able to be of any protection or use to you, and don't try to help me or save me. I made a mistake, and I refuse to compromise anyone else's safety because of it." Wufei knew this, as did Heero, but Duo was not very adept at reading into the subtle nuances in the boy's speech. Neither was Quatre, surprisingly enough. _

_                Another wave of enemies came, and Heero had gone in his already badly damaged mobile suit unbidden, and unwanted, the Chinese boy knew, to aid Trowa, who was fighting only with the knife he had. Wufei was surprised at this altruistic move, and also surprised that Heavyarms' pilot was allowing Wing Zero's help –both of the two stoic pilots preferred as much solitude as they could safely have- but that emotion was replaced quickly by concern as he saw both Heero and Trowa's Gundams getting destroyed. Duo was having trouble also, and he himself was not fairing too well._

_                The situation was hopeless. Their enemies seemed to never stop coming, and they couldn't keep themselves alive for much longer, much less succeed at the mission. Suddenly Trowa's voice came over the screen again._

_                "I've just run a short scan on the base's hangars. More enemies will be coming. Leave me here." _

_                "What?" Duo asked. "What the hell do you mean?"_

_                But Wufei and Heero had known instantly, and, respecting the pilot, turned around and retreated at the highest speed they could muster. When they were a safe distance away, they turned around to watch, not wanting to see the emerald eyed boy die, but feeling obligated to witness his passing. He would have done the same for them –indeed, he had done even more than simply watch when the Japanese pilot had opted to self-destruct. _

_                "Maxwell!" Shenlong's pilot shouted, suddenly angry. "Leave him alone!" Finally, Duo understood.  _

_                "Wha-no way! You can't expect me to just let him-"_

_                "Shut up, Maxwell!" Wufei flew back and dragged the unwilling Deathscythe to safety, too._

_                "The building I'm standing at contains the gundanium," Trowa said, as the weapons of the newly arrived mobile dolls that he had predicted struck his mobile suit. "So don't worry about it. I guess I get to be useful after all. Lucky me. Tell Catherine…I'm sorry." _

_                Time had seemed to stand still._

_                "Mission Accepted." These, Trowa felt, were worthy last words.  _

_                Heavyarms glowed red, then exploded, engulfing the entire base, the mobile dolls –and most importantly the gundanium- in its blast. Flames encompassed everything. _

_                "Mission… Completed," Heero said softly. Duo and Wufei watched, stunned, as the heavily damaged Wing Zero went into those flames, emerged with Trowa's mutilated body in its grip, and flew away. It didn't take pilots 05 and 02 long to destroy the mobile dolls that had escaped and the last bits of the base. Quatre had heard the whole thing inside Sandrock, and later he came to claim the destroyed Heavyarms; OZ could not be permitted to obtain it._

~:~:~:~:~

                Wufei sighed, his head in his hands. He had not expected to miss his friend so much, and he had to forcefully keep himself from mourning a death that was only feared, and not confirmed.

* * *

                Quatre looked into the mirror, his face betraying how devastated he was. Trowa was gone. Gone. The word kept repeating itself in his head over and over again. Gone. He would not allow himself to think "dead," because it was too painful for the moment. Perhaps there was some logic in distancing oneself the way that Heero and Trowa did, after all; it did not hurt so much if you could not care less about the deceased. But it was not in the blonde's nature to be that way, and the idea was immediately passed off as foolish. Friendships were most definitely important, and he would go on mourning the emerald-eyed pilot until the grief was gone, and nothing was left but bittersweet memory. 

                After Heavyarms' self-destruction, he had picked up the remnants of the Gundam, and at Duo's suggestion had dropped it off with Howard, who was on Earth somewhere. When that was done he had made the journey towards the circus where Trowa had stayed. Catherine knew better than to be overjoyed at the sight of a Gundam pilot; when her adopted brother's friends came calling, it invariably meant that something was wrong. Quatre thought at first that she would turn him away without listening to a word he said. 

~:~:~:~:~

_                "Um…Catherine?" he had asked tentatively as he knocked on the door of her trailer. _

_                The door opened to reveal the young woman, whose face fell at the sight of him._

_                "Yes?" she had asked politely, trying not to show the fear in her eyes._

_                "I don't know if you remember me, but-"_

_                "I remember you. You're one of Trowa's friends, right? Quatre, was it?" _

_                "Yes, that's right." _

_                "What is it, now? I'm sorry if I seem a little rude, but all the times that I've seen one of you Gundam pilots something bad has happened. Has Trowa gotten himself in trouble? Does he need our circus to go meet him somewhere?"_

_                "N-no…it isn't anything like that, really…" _

_                "Well, what is it?" _

_                "You may want to sit down, Miss Catherine…. we were on a mission…I mean to say that Trowa's always been very kind and dedicated…" _

_                "He got captured, didn't he," she said miserably. _

_                "N-no." hope flared briefly in the girl's eyes before he continued. "But it-it's something worse than that." _

_                "Please, Quatre, tell me," she said breathlessly._

_                "We miscalculated on a mission –there were far more enemies than we anticipated- and well, Trowa hadn't been able to get a hold of any ammo –we'd been on the run for several months, and he was running lower on artillery than he had thought- and my scimitars snapped…" _

_                "Quatre, tell me!" she cried._

_                He let out the rest in a rush, speaking as quickly as possible while trying not to let the tears that were building up behind his eyes to fall. _

_                "The mission was going all wrong, and we had little chance of victory, and it was getting hopeless, and there was nothing we could do about it, and he self-detonated to save us and complete the mission, and there's no way that he could be alive after that, because he was still inside Heayarms when it blew up, and I hate to bring such bad news, but you had to know, and he asked us to tell you that he was sorry!" _

                _She stood absolutely still for about five minutes, and Quatre began to think that something was seriously wrong with her. Then tears slowly started pouring out of her eyes, and she sank to the ground, beating a fist upon the earth as she screamed obscenities at him and demanded why her brother had to die, and why no one else had stopped him, or saved him like he saved Heero, and how could he have done such a thing, and in the end was reduced to sobbing as she cried over and over again that her brother was dead. _

~:~:~:~:~

                Quatre felt extremely guilty, and she had asked him to leave soon after that. He had not the heart to ignore her and had gone from the place as quickly as possible, trying not to look back, because he knew that he would see her still crying. He was mildly surprised at the void that was quickly filling his life without Trowa there. It seemed almost strange that such an aloof and silent pilot should be missed so much. Certainly the boy himself would not approve. Relena, of course, had cared very little, and when she had failed to show an appropriate amount of grief he had found himself wishing to scream at her, or to slap her in the face before he had gotten a hold of his feelings and offered to be her guard. 

                It was true that Trowa would not condone his sorrow, though. The boy would inform him in that soft, monotone voice that his sadness was getting in the way of his ability to make rational decisions, to operate safely and effectively in battles, and to carry out missions. Mission. The word brought him out of the state his mind had gone into. His friend might well be dead, but Quatre still had a war to fight. 

                But why had it had to be his way? It all seemed so incredibly unfair.


	2. Chapter 2

Adaptation

By: Kiamirei

~I claim nothing, as usual. Feel free to send me your comments.

            After what had seemed like an eternity, Trowa had finally regained consciousness. A small amount of happiness had shot through Heero when it happened, shocking himself. He was currently crouched at the bedside, softly speaking to the other pilot about what had happened since the nearly failed mission that had resulted in the self-destruction of Heavyarms.

                "It's been a month and a half. Duo and Wufei were accepted into Oz," he said emotionlessly. "They'll be there until they gain the information they need, or until the situation becomes too dangerous. Normally they would never abort a mission, but…after what happened…well, we deemed that it would be most effective that way. My mobile suit is destroyed, which leaves only the three of them in action. Quatre is at Relena's, protecting her. He dropped off the remains of your Gundam with Howard." 

                With difficulty, Trowa nodded, emerald eyes barely focused. Heero continued, his voice monotone as usual. 

                "Quatre also went to the circus, to inform Catherine of what happened. I can't say what happened; we haven't been in contact with each other since the last mission we were all together. But he probably told her you were dead." 

                Trowa nodded again, but the Japanese boy could see the pain his companion was trying hard to hide; pilot 03 was in far too frail condition to be able to keep his mask in place. Jade eyes closed again briefly, but then opened.

                "H-heero…" he choked out.

                Heero watched him steadily, without pity, waiting for the rest of the statement.

                "Why can't I…why can't I feel my legs?" 

                "Because they're gone," he whispered. "Cut off at the knees."      

                Without a word, or even a visible reaction, the injured pilot went back to sleep. 

* * * *

                It was evening three days later, and the two boys were once again talking, which was uncharacteristic to their personalities but necessary in the current situation.

                "How's your condition?" Heero asked.

                "Crappy. But better. I can speak without tiring, now." 

                "Hn." 

                "So…my legs are gone." 

                What he meant was, _What happened? Why did I have to lose my legs?_ But he would never say it out loud. However, the two pilots shared an understanding, and the Asian pilot was able to correctly interpret the seemingly pointless statement.  

                "We tried to save them," he said. "But we couldn't. You were so injured; we didn't think you would live. Quatre, Duo, and Wufei probably think you're dead." 

                "We?" 

                "I was forced to take you to a hospital. I did some hacking and found that luckily, Sally was nearby, and was able to help. Otherwise, you'd be dead, because no matter how hurt you were there was no way I was entrusting you to someone who we don't know we can trust. It's just too dangerous for the rest of us." Heero's tone, while emotionless, held fright and unwanted memory in it. 

~:~:~:~:~

                _Heero rushed Heavyarms' pilot into the building, ignoring the gasps and shouts of the people he pushed past. Sally, he knew, would be on the second floor, taking her lunch break. In about two minutes –it seemed like much longer- he had found her. _

_                "Sally," he said, standing in the doorway of the hospital's cafeteria. _

_                She turned, and her eyes widened as she rushed over to him, despite the stares of her colleagues, taking pilot 03's limp body and hurrying it to an empty stretcher, and then to the ER. _

_                "Heero, is this…?" _

_                "Trowa. Yes." _

_                "What ha-"_

_                "Later." _

_                "Alright." _

_                "Will he live?" _

_                He watched her look over the body of his companion, which was covered with blood, and had various rags tied onto it in places where he had stopped bleeding. A sinking feeling rose in his chest, both unexpected and unwelcome. The human body was not meant to take that much damage and still be able to function. He told himself that emotions were trivial, and that he was weak for having them. His ally was dying; it was imperative for him to keep his head clear._

_                "I don't know," Sally said at last. _

_                "Hn." _

_                "But I'll try my best. God knows we can't afford to lose any of you." _

_                He nodded, and watched her get to work. He would be on hand if she needed it, but aside from that, the two of them were alone. It would be far too risky to employ someone else's help._

_ Two and a half hours later, she turned to him tiredly, relief in her eyes._

_                "He has a chance of living," she said. "But his legs have to go." _

_                "You can't save them?" _

_                "Heero…there's nothing left to save. You can see that for yourself." _

_                It was true, he knew. Trowa, from now on, was going to be legless. _

~:~:~:~:~

                "How am I supposed to pilot?" the boy asked. Heero hesitated; he had thought of this for hours on end, and had come up with only one answer.

                "You can't." 

                "No?" Trowa's voice, carefully neutral, hid the panic he felt welling up inside of him. 

                "No. You'll be a liability. If you got caught, you'd have no way of escaping." 

                "I won't be caught." 

                Pilot 01 merely stared at him.

                "Alright then, I'll kill myself if I get into any trouble." 

                "You don't even have a mobile suit to fight in anymore." 

                "Heero, I _have_ to fight, you don't understand, I-" 

                "I understand perfectly. But you can't fight, and you know it. Don't be controlled by your emotions.

                Trowa heaved a shuddering sigh. _Then what am I supposed to do now? _He asked himself. _All I know how to do is kill people._

* * * *

                Duo couldn't help but laugh at the organization that he had entered. Security was extremely lax, and he had gained the trust of almost all of his superior officers. Even Wufei agreed with him. The self-proclaimed Shinigami hid a chuckle behind his hand as he sat down to eat in his quarters. The Chinese boy frowned at him.

                "What is it, Maxwell?" 

                "It's this place. It's so pathetic. Remember that really fancy private school we attended, the one with the huge rooms?" 

                "And the toilets were in each of the dorm rooms instead of the hallways?" 

                "Yeah! That's the one!" 

                "What about it?" 

                "I keep thinking Heero's _bathroom_ was securer than this place." 

                Wufei shook his head at his companion, but the American saw the corners of his mouth turn up in a small smile. Duo laughed out loud, but that did not change the fact that for all of the ease in which they had begun their mission, the position frightened him. Infiltration had been Trowa's gig; all he was good at was hiding in the shadows. 

* * * *

                Quatre had come to the conclusion that he really, really disliked Relena Peacecraft. He admitted that she was a resourceful girl, intelligent, a great diplomat, and had an odd sort of courage to her, but her personality left much lacking. 

He had offered to be her bodyguard, and she had willingly accepted, showing her appreciation by making sure he was unobtrusively given a good room and an excellent place to hide Sandrock. He now was by her side nearly all of the time, using his free time to eat and hack into files to further make sure she was absolutely safe. So far, he had alerted her of at least six assassination attempts that would be made, and killed two people who were actively trying to murder her. It was a chaotic time in the war, and it did not take a genius to recognize a golden opportunity when they saw one. 

Her work schedule was at least half as demanding as his own schedule –except that where his "Things to Do" list contained items like "Destroy Oz Base," "Kill This Officer," "Kill That Officer," and "Blow Up Production Warehouse," her list contained items like "Speak to This Ambassador," "Release Press Statement," "Re-write Speech," and "Try to Prevent Riots."  So, he had respect for her professionally. It was just her personality that he could not revere.

She snapped at her servants constantly, for one thing, showing no appreciation for what they did. She was vain, naïve, and could be even greedy. When she was tired, her temper was exceptionally short, and expected to receive what she wanted right that very instant. What's more, she had started to treat him like her own hired help. 

_I'm a Gundam pilot,_ he thought angrily, _and don't you forget it. And don't let it slip your mind that I'm here voluntarily. _

The Arabian felt guilty for thinking such things, though. Relena was very stressed out, and unlike him, she had not been trained to handle a rigorous agenda. When he thought about it more, he supposed that the main cause of his growing resentment was her lack of remorse for Trowa's death. It hurt to think of the silent boy as dead, but it would do no good to avoid the pain. Better to face reality, and get over any grief –unnatural though it was; he had not been close friends with the boy, after all- as naturally and quickly as possible.  

  ~:~:~:~:~

_"Good evening, Miss Relena," the blond boy said amiably as he stepped off of the shuttle and onto the earth. _

_                "Hello, Quatre. And it's just Relena. Thank you for telling me you were coming, and agreeing to meet with me. I have some questions to ask about the war." _

_                "I'll answer what I can gladly. But some things have to remain secret." _

_                "I understand." _

_                "This isn't why I'm here, though," he said slowly. _

_                "Oh?" _

_                "The war is getting crazier. It might be a good idea to keep a few people around to guard you." _

_                "I have bodyguards, of course." _

_                "What I mean is, I'm offering to protect you." _

_                Relena was not a stupid woman; she accepted immediately._

_                "I'd be grateful if you did," she said. "And I'll be sure to find somewhere safe to put your mobile suit."   _

_                "Thank you."_

_                "It's the least I can do." _

_                "Oh…Miss Relena?" _

_                "Yes?" _

_                "There's something else." Quatre looked at the ground uncomfortably, pain apparent in his azure eyes. _

_                "What is it?" _

_                "We…we had a failed mission about a week ago…well…it was successful in the end, but it almost failed. See, we didn't know there would be so many mobile dolls and got surrounded. We hadn't been able to stay in one place for months, and Trowa was really low on ammunition as a result." _

_                "What happened?" she asked breathlessly, eyes wide as she leaned towards him. _

_                "My weapons snapped –it's never happened before- and I had to retreat, so I didn't see it. But I could hear what happened." _

_                "Is Heero alright?" Her voice betrayed fear and concern. _

_                "Yes, yes, he's fine," he answered impatiently. "But Trowa…. He had to self-destruct in order to save us and make sure that we destroyed what needed to be destroyed!" _

_                "Oh," she said, considerably calmer and obviously uninterested. She straightened up again, her face no longer as pale as it had been only a moment ago. _

_                "I'm sorry about that," she added as an afterthought. Her tone suggested otherwise._

_                Quatre just stared at her. Didn't the girl even care?_

~:~:~:~:~

                No matter how hard he tried, pilot 04 could not stop himself from thinking to himself that Relena was very lucky that they needed her alive. Otherwise, he would never waste his time with her. 

* * * *

                Late at night, Duo bent over the shoulder of his fellow pilot as they read the words on the screen of the laptop they were in front of. Its blue light illuminated the darkness as the clicking sound of the keyboard and mouse filled the room. Finally, the American broke the silence.

                "How many bases did it say? You read faster than I do. I missed it." 

                "Seven."

                "How long till they're fully operational?" 

                "We have about five months at the most." 

                "Can we leave, then? As lax as security is around here, pretending to be a soldier makes me nervous. I don't see how Trowa stood it. I get more and more afraid that I'm going to slip up somehow."

                "Don't be weak. And no, we can't leave. We still need more information, and if we could get close enough to an important officer to kill him, it would be helpful."

                "This really bothers me. In our job, now that Trowa's dead, can we really afford messing up?"

                "I told you to stop being weak! This is our _responsibility_, Maxwell. It's our _mission_. And we're going to complete this mission. Another failure might end in more death. You, or me, or Quatre, or even Heero. Understand?" 

                "Yes. But if they figure me out, and take me prisoner, don't blame me, and don't leave me for them to torture. Just kill me."   


	3. Chapter 3

Adaptation

By: Kiamirei

~ I don't own anything, as usual. 

            They had abandoned the mobile home in the woods where it had been found, instead opting to rent a small apartment that was in the city five miles over. Life was fairly calm; after making the report for their last mission and the current status and location of each pilot, Heero had received no new orders, for which both boys were grateful. In the midst of a peaceful morning, just before dawn, Trowa Barton was lying face down on the floor. He had been that way for a half hour. Heero was in the kitchen making breakfast, and had no doubt heard the thump as he fell out of the bed, but there was no way that he was going to call for help. He was just thankful that he had landed on his stomach, rather than the stumps of his legs; if he had, it would have hurt like hell, and could have started bleeding. 

                After arguing countless times over his ability to pilot a mobile suit, the emerald eyed warrior had realized something: his friend was not worried about his safety in the least; there was no doubt about Trowa's ability to keep himself alive. The conflict was something far different from that. When he thought about it, it made a lot of sense, and he wondered why he had been so slow on the uptake. Heero "Perfect Soldier" Yuy could not accept the idea that even legless, he could be just as skilled and just as deadly as he had been before. The Japanese boy was almost obsessive in his perfectionism –the fault of his training, no doubt- and now that he had an imperfection the pilot just could not accept him as being as proficient as he was before. Never mind the fact that legs had absolutely nothing to do with piloting. Never mind the fact that through what could have been described as a miracle his brain was completely unaffected. Never mind the fact that his arm strength had been greater than Heero's, because he left the controlling mechanism to Heavyarms unbalanced, making it much harder to lift the left arm. 

                _Had _beenstronger_. _As a result of being a soldier from birth, and as a result of years of training as a gymnast, his arms had been the strongest part of his entire body. But then he had blown himself up. Now the limbs he had cultivated so much were of extremely little use to him. They felt like wet noodles, and hurt, as did the rest of his body, whenever he tried to use them. For this reason, instead of being up and back on the bed in less than three seconds, he was nearly helpless. Apparently, his body did not appreciate being self-detonated inside of a Gundam, and not for the first time, he found himself wishing he had legs again.

                Trowa could not deny that the psychological affect of his injuries could be staggering. He felt useless, incomplete. Sometimes he would wake to feel his calf muscles hurting, only to remember that he no longer had calves. Occasionally he would lose his balance and fall out of chairs –or beds- and have to rely on the Japanese pilot to pick him up again. It pained him to have his sense of balance thrown off; it was one of the two things he had allowed himself to take pride in, while walking along the top of a fence, or leaning precariously off of his Gundam or the roof of a three-story building. The other thing had been the fact that he could speak seven different languages; it made up for not having a name. ("_Hi, I'm nameless, so just call me Nanashi, but hey, I speak seven different languages!")_ But it did not end there. He couldn't eat unless Heero carried him to the table. He couldn't bathe unless Heero carried him to the tub and helped undress him; he was still too weak to do it on his own. He couldn't go to a different room unless Heero took him there. He couldn't cook unless Heero put him on a chair because he could no longer see above the counter top. He couldn't even take a shit unless Heero put him on the toilet. It was degrading, and he felt more and more of his pride wash away with each incident. 

_                As soon as I'm strong again, I swear I'm getting myself prosthetic legs,_ he thought.  

                Wallowing in self-pity was something that he did not allow himself to do, however, and so he tried his hardest to just make do with the situation, to just put the past behind him. After all, he had forced himself to stop caring about the fact that he was nameless and had to take the title of a corpse, had he not? But it was hard, and he knew he was not as mentally strong as Wufei was. Even Quatre, the most sensitive of them all, had an uncanny ability to simply look towards the future. 

                _Damn this,_ he thought_. I will be strong. I will. And I'm going to get up, so Heero doesn't see me and become even more stubborn in his opinions. I don't want to be humiliated again. Even now, I want my dignity. So come on, Nanashi, get up._

                Slowly, agonizingly slowly, an arm crawled closer to his side. Bit by bit, the other arm followed, and he rested for a few seconds. Then he pushed with both arms, actually succeeding in rising a few inches before heavily dropping back to the floor. He tried again. And again. And again and again and again, all in vain. He was preparing to make another attempt when there was a short knock on the door just before it opened. It was Heero, with a cup of coffee for him. 

                Wordlessly, pilot 01 put the cup on the bedside table and walked over to the other boy. With no effort at all, he picked him up. 

                "Where do you want to go?" he asked, in the monotone voice the two were so characterized by.

                "Nowhere," Trowa whispered, for once letting his tone show a bit of the enormous amount of unhappiness he felt. "Nowhere at all." 

* * * *

                "The question," Wufei said contemplatively, "is not how many bases there are. The question we should be asking is _where_ the hell they're getting the damn Gundanium Alloy." 

                "True. So how do we find out?" 

                "How do we find out anything around here?" 

                "Oh. Yeah," Duo said, with just a hint of bitterness. "We'll fawn and obey, and keep normal profiles, and sweet-talk our superiors in the off-chance that they might let slip some information." 

                "And then we'll come back here and hack into their files," Wufei finished for him. There was silence for a few moments while the American paced the room, but it did not last long. 

                "Arrgghh! I hate this, Wufei! I'm not a goddamn soldier!"

                "Obviously not. You're also acting like a child." 

                "I never had a childhood." 

                "None of us have." 

                "Surprise, surprise. When we find out where they're getting the metal, _then_ can we leave?" 

Violet eyes pleaded with the Chinese boy, and he found himself wanting to give in. A war needed to be fought, however, and personal feelings could not be allowed to get in the way of it. 

"No." 

"What? Why not?" 

"Because then we need to see who discovered it, and if they've discovered it in more places, and what more they plan to do." 

"I hate this. It scares the shit outta me." 

"Deal with it. You think I'm not nervous? All it takes is one slip-up, and we're screwed. I'm not enjoying this any more than you are. But get used to it. We have to be strong." 

"I'm not a soldier. I run. I hide. I strike from the shadows so that our numbers don't get any smaller. It's always been my style." 

"I'm no soldier either. I hate taking orders from people who I can't respect. I hate the weak people here. I fight openly and with as little deception as possible. But since when has anyone cared about what ways I prefer to go about trying to win a war? Deal with it, Maxwell. That's all I have to say." 

"You piss me off, Wufei. But it's mainly because you're right." 

Duo sat down on the bed, smoothing out some wrinkles in his uniform. He felt disturbed seeing himself in it, feeling somehow that wearing the clothing was somehow a betrayal to his beliefs. There was quiet again for a few minutes as the self-proclaimed Shinigami thought to himself. However, silence unnerved him, and before long, he was chattering away; the constant, meaningless prattle kept him from thinking too much.    

* * * *

                Late at night, when Duo had finally stopped his inane talking long enough to fall asleep, Wufei got out of his bed as quietly as possible, and proceeded to tiptoe across the floor to sit in the chair in front of the laptop on the table. He turned it on, and began the weekly search he had been making since the night Heero had taken off. If he could just prove that Trowa was still alive and that pilot 01 was safe then perhaps he and his voluble companion would be that much less stressed out. It would help to not have the question hanging over their heads. 

                Then again, he had to keep in mind that Duo was of the opinion that there _was_ no question. Trowa Barton had died, Heero Yuy had taken the corpse to be burned or buried, and that was that. Perhaps it was easier for the American to think that way because he had never really been a friend with the boy who worked at a circus in his free time. And he had to admit, it was not very logical to disagree. Wishful thinking, maybe. On top of that, this search, like all his other searches, was completely fruitless so far; there was absolutely nothing that he could go off of. Even assuming that they had stayed on that one colony, looking for the two pilots was like looking for a needle in a haystack. 

                But Wufei refused to believe that the boy had not survived. He admitted that Trowa had meant business when he pressed the self-destruct button: Heero had stood on the open hatch of his Gundam when he decided to die, Quatre had gotten out of Sandrock, he himself had never been forced to blow his mobile suit up, and Duo's self-destruct mechanism had completely failed. Pilot 03 had chosen to self-detonate inside Heavyarms with the door locked shut. But somehow, he had a feeling in his gut that giving up on the boy would be a mistake. And it was an advantage that the only weapon that the Gundam had been left with was its army knife; blowing up a mobile suit when it was packed full with missiles, bombs, and machine guns would not even leave a corpse behind. A few ashes would be the only thing left of the unfortunate soul caught in the explosion. He also admitted that it would be highly out of character for Heero to even attempt to save someone; if not dead, Trowa was obviously going to be a big liability. Maybe the Japanese pilot had just dumped the body in a ditch somewhere. But again, he could not force himself to accept that. 

                _God I miss Nataku, _he thought. _Both the real one and the mobile suit. _

                He missed his wife more than the weapon, which was a relief, and felt the familiar ache welling up inside of him. As stubborn, single-minded, opinionated, and judgmental as she had been, the girl had also been strong, just, understanding, helpful, and infinitely caring. She would have had some good advice to give him, or maybe just a hug and a peck on the cheek. Either one would do right now. He tried not to let himself go one in this fashion, but his wife was something that his morals were always more lenient on. As for the mobile suit…. Sally had jokingly asked him once whether he and the other four pilots knew any stress relievers that _didn't_ involve blowing up military bases. They had both laughed, but knew that the answer to the question was most likely one that neither wanted to know. And military bases were much easier to destroy when he was piloting his Gundam. 

                Just before dawn, an hour before he and Duo would have to get dressed, he gave up, turned off the computer, and went to bed, as he had done for each of these long nights. Next week might prove to yield different results, but at the moment, he was tired and wanted rest.

* * * * 

                Yawning, Quatre groggily got out of bed, rubbing his eyes, and looked at the clock on his bedside table. It was ten o'clock in the morning. He smiled ruefully; the inactivity was making him weak. Normally he would have been wide awake at sunrise, but the lack of missions had given him the time it took to realize just how malnourished and sleep-deprived his body had been. He felt sorry for the other four –_three,_ he reminded himself, there were only _three _others now- pilots. While he got to relax as he played bodyguard for Relena, Duo and Wufei were hard at work getting info from Oz, and Heero was…well, wherever the boy was, there was no doubt he was being useful. The blonde almost felt guilty, but Oz was being fairly quiet, and there had not been a single mission sent to him, so he figured it would be okay to lay low for a while, and if the others needed his help, they knew where to look. With an exasperated sigh, the boy smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand.

                _I'm getting so lazy,_ he thought. _That's it. I'm going running. She can deal with going a single day without me, and my physical health is starting to go downhill. How can I expect to be able to pilot Sandrock for hours at a time if I can't even get up at a reasonable hour?_

                He picked up the clock, found the alarm setting, and set it for six o'clock in the morning. Then he found his clothes, and went to get in the shower. 

* * * * 

                There was an element to being covered in sweat that appealed to him. After explaining that he was taking the day off and that he was going running, the girl had offered him running clothes, which he gladly accepted. Quatre had memorized his way around the city her estate was at before even setting foot in it, and had no worries while he spent four hours straight running around the streets. Now, just after getting back, he was panting for breath and feeling absolutely filthy. But in a way, he liked it, as strange as it sounded even to his own ears. 

                That sensation of being completely exhausted, like he was completely drained of all energy, somehow felt good. It was as if he could use his fatigue to prove that he was not being completely idle, like he could use himself as an example to say, "Hey, look, I did something constructive!" Not that anyone cared what he did. Relena's bodyguards scorned him for his youth, and she herself ignored him also. Perhaps she felt that his presence implied that he was not good enough to fight his enemies. 

                _That's not true,_ he adamantly told himself. _I'm good enough. But everyone needs rest, and it's been so short a time since Trowa died, and even Oz seems to want a time-out…._


	4. Chapter 4

Adaptation

By: Kiamirei

~Obviously, I own nothing.

            In the silence that filled the room as the Chinese pilot typed on the laptop, searching for yet more information, Duo finally gave up and turned to him. 

                "I'm telling you, Wufei, they _know_ that something's wrong," the American said firmly. 

                "How?" 

                "I've been watching them! Haven't you noticed that they try to keep us guarded all the time? And some of the comments that the officers have been making suggest that they suspect us, not to mention the conversation I overheard!" 

                "Of course I noticed. But what conversation?" 

                "I told you last night!" 

                "I wasn't listening." 

                Duo glared at him. 

                "I said, I was passing by the control room, and I heard two people talking. One said, 'keep an eye on Maxwell and Chang. I don't like them; they're too good at what they do.'" 

                "That doesn't mean a thing. It's probably just spite, or jealousy. We still can't leave." 

                "Why not?" This was more than just annoying now; it was dangerous.

                "Because we don't have all the information we set out to get." 

                "Who cares? The situation has become unstable, Wufei. If we don't get out now, we may not get out at all. Why can't you just let this go? Do you want us to die, too?" 

                Wufei looked down, biting his lip, his face somewhat flushed.

                "I don't know, Maxwell. The only thing I'm sure of is that we _need_ to complete this mission. If we back down, and OZ is able to actually use the Gundanium Alloy that the bases have been importing, we're done for. The only reason why we have a chance in this damn war anyway is because our mobile suits are stronger and faster than any of theirs. Take that away, and OZ will win." 

                "But if we don't get out soon, we may not be in any position to fight! Can't you get that through that thick skull of yours?" 

                Now the shorter pilot looked up, coal eyes narrowed angrily.

                "Be quiet! The only reason you want to leave is because being here scares you! Can't you just be strong for once?" 

                "Fuck your stupid strength! It hasn't gotten you any farther than the rest of us, has it?" 

                "Damn you, idiot, this 'stupid strength' is what's going to save your life someday! God I wish Nataku were here, instead of you!" 

                "Fuck Nataku too! Everything you say is 'Nataku this!' 'Nataku that!' Get a life!  Who was it, anyway? It sure as hell isn't your mobile suit you're talking about! Come on! Tell me! Was this great Nataku some relative? Or maybe your whore?" 

                Before Duo could even blink, the other boy had punched him hard in the face, and the American had to look up at Wufei from the floor, violet eyes dazed as his nose bled. A low growl was escaping from the Chinese pilot's throat, but he did not acknowledge it.  Slowly, he got up off of the floor and went into the bathroom to stop the bleeding.

* * * *

                Duo stayed in the bathroom for a long time, as Wufei sat outside on his bed. He had made an attempt to get back on the laptop, but could not concentrate. Not bothering to try to force himself any further, he turned it off; lack of concentration was a dangerous thing when trying to hack into OZ's records. Instead, he focused his mind on the situation. The Chinese boy knew that he should not have struck his ally; as soon as those orbs had looked up at him from the floor, pain and betrayal seeping into their expression, he was aware that what he had done was wrong. It had not served justice. Duo had been wrong to say such things about his wife, of course, but he had not really known how much the words would hurt, and he was too angry to even consider that possibility. Wufei never talked about her, after all. Punching his companion was childish, and weak. She would not have approved of his actions; instead of using force, the girl would simply have given a harmless verbal retort, or even ignored the offense. 

                Now that he was thinking about it, the boy realized that his companion was not entirely wrong. Their position really was getting dangerous, and he knew this. So why was he insisting they stay? He looked towards the door, hearing the knob turn, and stood up to face the other pilot. 

                "I…look, Wufei," Duo said, eyes downcast. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It was rude of me, and immature. Nataku is obviously someone important to you, some one you respect, and I'm aware that you don't give that esteem to just anyone. I apologize for my actions. We'll stay." 

                Wufei looked at the floor. He felt bad, and Duo had been right before. Now it was time to swallow his pride and say as much. 

                "No, Duo. As offensive as your comment was, it was wrong of me to hit you. I treated you like an enemy, or an inferior, not an ally. I was immature. And…you're right about leaving. The longer we stay, the more dangerous it gets. What you know isn't all of it. There are reports about us expressing suspicion all over the base. Officers distrust us, which is why our jobs are loose and minimal. And once, when they thought we were both asleep, they had someone search our room. I…I don't know why I didn't tell you. I knew you were correct the first time you complained about not being safe." 

                Duo gave him a small smile.  

                "I know why." 

                "Huh?" 

                "I know why you kept quiet. And so do you, deep down. You feel guilty for botching that last mission. It eats at you, makes you feel like a failure, makes you feel weak. Aborting this mission is like admitting that we're incapable of doing our duty. But it's okay to leave, buddy. We can't win them all. The last mission was devastating; it's hard emotionally, and it resulted in a great reduction of our forces. Trowa's dead, Heero's mobile suit was nearly destroyed, and Quatre is weaponless, except for those idiotic little guns on Sandrock's head. But we can't let that stop us. There's still a war to fight." 

                The Chinese boy looked up at him contemplatively.

                "Alright then, Duo. We'll leave tomorrow and get our Gundams." 

                "Sounds good. Then what?" 

                "Blow up this base, of course."

                "I should have known. What _else_ do we do when we're stressed?" Duo grinned. 

* * * *

                It was night, and Heero was washing the dishes after dinner, which had consisted of instant ramen and water. Not the healthiest meal, especially considering he had to be in top condition and Trowa was still recovering from self-detonation, but he did not care. After the last time the boy had been stuck helpless on the floor, he had begun to lift weights. They were extremely light –only three pounds- but pilot 03 found them hard to lift in succession. For about the millionth time it occurred to him that he was acting out of character. The boy was a liability; it was illogical for Heero to continue staying with him. 

When he took the body from the remains of Heavyarms, he had not expected to find its pilot alive. His intentions in taking Trowa had been only to give what little honor he had to offer; pilot 03 had sacrificed his life to complete the mission, and it would be wrong to leave the corpse out on the battlefield. Had it been any of the others, though, he would not have done so. However, the boy had saved his life once, traveled around Europe with him while he was on his search for redemption, lent him the Gundam to battle Zechs in, and had even remodeled it so that he could use a beam weapon when he ran out of ammo or his arm got too tired to move the heavy controls; after all that it was only right to pay back that debt as best as he could. 

It had been extremely shocking to look at the limp form in Wing Zero's hands and see the faint, shallow breathing that betrayed the presence of life. The only thing that had surprised him more was when Sally informed him that there was no brain damage. It was almost enough to make him consider believing in a God. Almost. But even though Trowa's mind was intact, they had still lost a pilot. It was true that perhaps the boy would be able to regain that ability, but there was no denying the fact that he had lost his legs, and as such would become a liability too dangerous to leave alive, should he engage in battle. If he ever got captured, there would be no plausible way to escape and find somewhere to hide. The loss was a shame, and it was also a shame that the emerald-eyed boy now had no purpose in life. In the depths of those emotionless orbs, he could see the desperation that was slowly growing there. He was the only one who could pick up on it, would have been the only one even if there had been others around; he and Trowa had always been that way, understanding each other's intentions and thoughts without having to speak.  

                But Heero refused to pity him. He was _incapable_ of pitying him. Pity was an emotion, and therefore a hindrance, and therefore something that he did his best to eliminate. Besides, pilot 03 would only despise it if he did not get rid of that particular sentiment. It would be seen as an insult, even a betrayal. Keeping that in mind, the Japanese boy was determined act as he always did. They only difference between now and the way things had been before was that Trowa was incapable of piloting, and Heero had to help him with the most menial tasks, against both of their wills.    

* * * *

                Trowa sat on his bed, lifting weights. Sweating, he went about his task almost frantically. The controls to Heavyarms were much harder to move than these, he knew, and if he allowed himself to slack off, he could never get in its cockpit again. It would be a fate worse than death –dying was something he welcomed; being unable to pilot would be hell. After all, he was already going crazy because of the inaction he faced. For all his life, he'd had an identity, a role to immerse himself in. He'd been Nanashi, he'd been various soldiers throughout the years, and very recently, he'd been Trowa Barton. But now all his masks had been stripped away, torn from his hands, leaving him to look into the mirror in the morning to face only himself. And that scared him more than anything else ever could, because he had no idea who he was, or if he was anyone at all. He tended to think not. He'd stare at the image there, gazing into a single, lifeless eye of jade, the other one covered by a shock of brown hair. Most of his bruises had disappeared a few weeks ago, but he still had one on his cheekbone, and several on his arms. Pale skin was a constant reminder of the ghost he had almost become. What the glass did not show were the scars laid across his back, caused by pieces of his gundam that had cut him during self-destruction. And, of course, his arms had been left weak, nearly useless, which was what he was currently trying to remedy. Exhausted and unable to go any further, he dropped the weights. They rolled to the floor, and unexpected emptiness set in. It was welcome. 

                Emptiness was welcome because it was neither joy nor pain nor anger nor sorrow nor hope nor despair. It just _was_. It was silence, and detachment, and barrenness, and protection. No cares, no fears, no desires, no sensation.  In emptiness, nothing mattered except for the identity that he had currently taken on, and completing the mission that required that character, and so he was not subject to wayward emotions that managed to escape past the barrier he had built in his mind. And if he did not have an identity at the moment, then it was okay, because the emptiness would embrace him, would continue to do so until and after the next mask came around. When he died, he hoped that emptiness would be waiting to claim him as its own. There would be no 'him,' just a complete loss of self that would not matter, which would be paradoxical in that it would give him a small amount of satisfaction to know that he was nothing and that he did not mind being nothing. Heero understood. Heero also understood that while he lived most of his life in this condition, there were moments of heavily guarded vulnerability, when all his masks fell away and the emptiness receded, and he was left seeing only his own character and what was left of that tattered thing that used to be his own soul, and when anything at all –a touch, a look, a smell, a sound, anything and everything- could hurt him, and usually did. 

                _Well there you go, _he told himself. _If you ever need proof of your insanity, just tell someone about your little 'emptiness.' Not that you'll ever actually need proof. _But that didn't matter because he was empty now. Nothing mattered. Not his arms, not the stumps that were the only remains of his legs, not the fact that Heavyarms was gone, not missions, and not the war. 

One thing that he did realize, though, was that if this void was paradoxical in the satisfaction it gave, then it was also paradoxical in the dull ache it gave him inside.  

* * * *

                A few days had gone by, and by now, OZ had to have noticed their absence. Duo hoped that no one had notified anyone important about it, because it could look suspicious; two boys disappear and the base is destroyed by Gundam pilots shortly after that. A ten year old could follow the logic –Treize and Lady Une would certainly realize it. But had they really been under that much suspicion? Immediately he knew that yes, they had, and it would be foolish to think otherwise. However, it was unrealistic to assume that either Treize or Lady Une would have been notified. It was unrealistic to assume that the information had even circulated across the entire base. Also, did it really matter if their names were known? They had the skills to obtain any names they wanted, and their photos would be destroyed when the base went down. 

                As always, battle had an intoxicating effect on Duo. Reality receded, and his senses were assaulted from all sides, as he became the God of Death, responsible for sending OZ to the hell it belonged in. His ears pounded from the sounds of explosions and from screams –he could not tell whether they were the shrieks of soldiers dying under his beam scythe, or if they were his own- as his violet eyes sought out enemy after enemy. He squinted from the light of explosions as they tore through mobile suits and mobile dolls to get at the base and destroy it, plowing through scraps of metal that used to be weapons with people in them in his quest. Deathscythe's cockpit grew hot, and he was sweating, but it did not matter. _This_ was where he belonged, not infiltrating. And so, while he sent person after person to their deaths, he felt his spirit lift, partly from the adrenaline rush and partly from the knowledge that he was in battle again. Things were getting back to normal.

                Wufei fought this encounter methodically as he broke through a line of mobile suits to rip a gaping hole in the side of the base. While his mind was everywhere at once, thinking about a million things, his reflexes responded to only one train of thought: "See enemy. Kill enemy. See base. Destroy base." The metal surface of the building heated under the feet of his mobile suit as explosions racked the place while he killed anyone he saw, intent on destroying it and the Gundanium Alloy it was hiding. OZ could not be allowed to use such strong material for their weapons, or the war would inevitably be lost; he could be one of five pilots (he refused to accept Trowa's death even now) fighting against OZ and have a chance at winning while their weapons were exclusive. He could not be one of five pilots fighting against an OZ that possessed an army of Gundams and still expect to be victorious. What he was doing right now was important. And as he fought, he could not deny the sense of _rightness_ that filled him; infiltration was acceptable enough, but open combat was much, much better.


	5. Chapter 5

Adaptation

By: Kiamirei

~I own nothing, of course…and thank you to the people who reviewed. I appreciate it. Information 

            about prosthesis can be found at the Web MD and The War Amps. The addresses are 

www.waramps.ca and www.my.webmd.com. If the information I have is incorrect, or if 

you have more information to give, please don't hesitate to contact me.

                Lunch was eaten in silence. It was _always_ eaten in silence, as were their other meals. That was just the way that things were; both Heero and Trowa had always been more comfortable in stillness than in conversation. However, this routine was broken when the Japanese pilot looked up from his plate and told his companion the information he had discovered that morning.

                "Duo and Wufei had to leave the base," he said. "They destroyed it, of course. I've managed to track them down to Relena's estate." 

                Trowa looked up, his face impassive, although the other boy could see the surprise veiled within the depths of his eyes.

                "Why did they go?" 

                "People were getting suspicious of them."

                "That's all?" 

                "Yes." 

                "They should have waited until they were forced to leave." 

                "Hn. Maybe they were too nervous."

                "Maybe." 

                "….Heero…. " Pilot 03 did not know how to start up the topic that he wanted to discuss, so, as always, he decided to be blunt and get to the point. "I want legs again." 

                "Hn." 

                And that was it. But it was all that needed to be said.

* * * *

                Their Gundams had been stored away with Sandrock, and they sat with it's pilot in the dining room. 

                "So did you get the information you needed?" Quatre asked. 

                "Yeah," Duo said. "Most of it." 

                "We have enough," Wufei agreed. "There would have been more, but Duo finally convinced me to leave… What is it, Quatre?" 

                "Oh, it's just, you used Duo's first name. You never used to do that." 

                The boy looked down. "Yes, well, we had a little…disagreement. And now we've come to understand some things." 

                _What things?_ Quatre asked silently, glancing at the dark bruise on the American's face. But, understanding that the matter was something private, he said nothing. 

* * * *

                "You're going to have to deal without having legs," Heero informed him several hours later. "For awhile, at least." 

                "Why?" 

                "Sally's the only doctor we can trust, and she left the area awhile ago." 

                "So we'll break into a hospital and steal some. We can handle it alone." 

                Heero stared at him, cobalt eyes quickly analyzing. Trowa looked down, slightly blushing, knowing what this meant; his comrade knew now.

                 "You didn't do any research. You don't know anything about prosthetic legs." It was a statement. Pilot 03 continued gazing at the floor, refusing –_unable_, the Japanese boy realized- to meet his eyes. 

                "Why?" 

                "I…I…" Trowa finally looked up, and behind the deadpan expression lurked the vulnerability that Heero had not known existed. He'd known about the desperation, yes, but _vulnerability? _It seemed so unlikely and out of place that he decided he was mistaken.

                "You what?"

                "I…I was nervous."  Damn, but this was humiliating. He despised having to be this open; it made him feel embarrassed and insecure.

                "Of what?" 

                "That I'd find out something bad, and have to go on living like this. You don't have any idea what it's like," he said bitterly. "I hate it. I've never had to rely on anyone else in my life before this. And now there's so little I can do on my own. It doesn't help that my arms were left so weak, either. Before, I could fight, and it was the only thing I had. But now I have nothing. I can't even be Nanashi anymore, because at least Nanashi could fight." 

                "Nanashi?" 

                "Even Heavyarms is gone. The only thing keeping me going was the thought that once I got legs again I could go back to the war." 

                "But surely you didn't think that you'd just snap on a pair of fake legs and go prance around the colony." 

                "I knew it wasn't going to be like that. But I didn't allow myself to think about it." 

                "Trowa," the boy started tiredly, a rare expression of pity –and a tiny bit of irritation- crossing his face, but he was cut off.

                "Don't look at me like that, Heero. It's bad enough knowing you'll never accept me as a normal, capable person again now that I have no legs."

                 Cobalt eyes widened in surprise, but there was no answer. Neither of them said another word –they didn't know what to say- but the silence spoke volumes.

* * * *

                "So, Quatre, how's it been lately, living with Relena?" 

                "Don't get me started on it." 

                "That bad, huh?" 

                "Yeah. She's really not a bad person, and she's inarguably a genius politically. But her actions and her behaviors…they're just so…so…"

                "Bitchy?" 

                "_Pushy_ would be the kinder word. She doesn't do justice to her upbringing. And it made me angry that she couldn't have cared less about Trowa." 

                "Really?" 

                "It's true. I told her what happened and she cut me off halfway through to ask if Heero was okay. And then when I finished the story, she obviously didn't care." 

                Duo sighed. "Oh well, you couldn't really expect her to give a shit. It's not like she knew him. I doubt she even knows what he looked like." 

                "I know, but…I still miss him." 

                "I understand, but you know, Quatre…" 

                "What?" 

                "I… it's just that, I haven't really been thinking about him all that much anymore. It's sad that he died, and he was a good person, but I didn't know him well. And we have a war to fight, you know. I can't very well sit up at night and _cry_ over him; as depressing as it is that he had to self-destruct, it doesn't change the fact that I still have to climb into Deathscythe's cockpit in the morning and to beat the shit out of OZ. He's the lucky one. He doesn't have to fight anymore. He did his part and now he's done. End of story." 

                "That sounds so coldhearted." 

                "Maybe. And I'm sorry if it offends you. But it's the truth…. You know, Wufei still thinks he's alive." 

                "Really?" 

                "Yeah. The poor guy can't make himself accept the facts. I think it's because Trowa's the only one who was actually kind to him." 

                "Kind?" 

                "After he was defeated by Treize, Wufei told me that Trowa brought him back to the circus. Didn't say anything the entire time, just motioned for him to follow, and fed him when they got there. He offered him a place to stay for as long as he wanted, and a job at the circus." 

                "I'm surprised. Trowa kept to himself pretty much." 

                "I know. Weird, huh? Trowa and Heero were the only two that he let get close to him. But Trowa's dead and Heero disappeared. We can't find him. He hasn't even been attacking any OZ facilities. Maybe he's still fixing Wing Zero, but it's been a few months already. He most likely is being forced to hide somewhere." 

                "I see." Quatre looked down at the table. 

                "Did you fix Sandrock?" 

                "Ah…I never really got the chance to. Why?" 

                "Because Wufei and I want to get going pretty soon." 

                "And you need Sandrock?" 

                "Well, you're coming with us, aren't you?" 

                "Seriously?" 

                Duo looked at him as if he was being idiotic, which, the boy realized, was true.

                "I'll call Howard as soon as possible, and have him come here," the Arabian promised. 

                "Good. Now…when's lunch? I'm hungry." 

                The brown-haired boy flashed a grin at him and left, presumably towards the kitchen. Quatre stayed where he was, contemplating the conversation. Maybe Duo was right. Maybe it was time to stop thinking about Trowa, and time to stop blaming Relena for not caring. It didn't have anything to do with her, after all.

* * * *

                They hadn't spoken to each other for about four days, which was not disturbing to either of them in the least. The extended silence was by no means a petty expression of their displeasure with the other; rather, it was in order to allow them to think without being under any pressure to put up any fronts. Heero still made breakfast for the both of them in the morning, and brought his ally's portion upstairs. Trowa's arms were getting stronger, and he was now able to bring himself from his bed, onto the floor to get dressed, into the bathroom to wash, and back to the bed. He then ate the food that would be waiting for him, and lifted weights when he was finished. He would do this until he could no longer hold them, and then rested before taking another shower.  And he had also done research, prompted from inactivity by the last conversation they had had. 

                One thing that he learned was that Heero had been right: he could not simply get the substitute legs and be ready to go in the span of a day or two. They had been changing the bandages around the stumps of his legs, which was a good thing, but they had been neglecting the next step that would be necessary if he wanted to walk again. Before he could even think about piloting, on top of doubling the frequency and weight of his arm exercises, he would have to do exercises that would strengthen the muscles of and around the stumps. He could have been fitted for a temporary prosthesis during the second or third week, but had still been unconscious at the time. However, even if he had been fitted, he still could not walk. Weight-bearing would need to begin, to prepare his diminished limbs to hold himself up. The amount would increase gradually until his stumps could tolerate his full weight. Overall, it could take around ten or twelve weeks before he could be fitted for a permanent prosthesis, and before he could start walking with a crutch. Trowa sighed. Ten or twelve weeks was a long time to wait when a war going on. 

                That was far too long a delay, and Sally wasn't even around. This was not looking good. Then again, he supposed that he should be grateful and consider himself lucky; Heero was still around, taking care of him, despite the obvious burden it was causing. They were in a state of uneasiness at the moment, but ever since he had self-destructed, the Japanese pilot had been showing unexpected altruism. For a brief, unsettling moment, he contemplated why Wing Zero's pilot continued to be kind to him, and what it implied before shoving it out of his mind. Trowa instead reflected that perhaps his comments, as mild as they had sounded, had been slightly over the line. The ghost of a smile traced his lips; despite the fact that their expressions were deadpan and their voices monotone, they certainly did observe strict rules of courtesy and conveyed much of their wishes without even having to speak. The boy recalled something that Duo had said to him once, half in jest and half seriously: "Damn it, Trowa, for two people with personalities like a rock, you and Heero can be so _infuriatingly_ _subtle_!" 

                That bit of nostalgia led him to wonder how the other pilots were faring, and then he remembered that they most likely thought he was dead. The tiny, hint of a smile he had been wearing disappeared. 

* * * *

                The circus simply wasn't the same without Trowa. She felt this very profoundly, and knew that the loss was not merely the fact that she needed to find someone else to throw knives at. He had been an odd one, always kind and ready to help but also a perfectionist and fanatical about keeping what he did before joining them and during his short leaves a secret. Of course, that had all come out into the open during the little stunt in which he decided to self-destruct. Luckily, he had regained his senses when she had slapped him in the face, and the boy had lived to see another day.

                But she hadn't been there to stop him this time.

                They continued traveling, of course, although the Manager had graciously offered her as much time off as she needed. She had declined, though, needing something to keep her busy so that she would not slip into the clutches of despair that threatened her at all hours of the day; work would help her put off having to deal with her emotions. The woman smiled faintly. "Procrastination" was the name of the game, and she prided herself on playing it well.

                Blinking quickly in an attempt to chase away the tears that threatened to fall, she picked up her knives and walked outside to the board she practiced on; even without a partner, she needed to keep her skills up to par. 


	6. Chapter 6

Adaptation

By: Kiamirei

~ Thank you to the people who kindly reviewed (my ego thanks you even more…I'm so 

pathetic…). As always, I appreciate the courtesy. And as always, I own nothing. Information about prosthesis can be found at the Web MD and The War Amps. The addresses are www.waramps.ca and www.my.webmd.com. If the information I have is incorrect, or if you have more information to give, please don't hesitate to contact me; I don't want to be ignorant, or to offend anyone. Like most of the story, this chapter is crappy (it's short, too), but I tried.

                When he was not tending to Trowa or cleaning, Heero thought about all that had happened since the day that Heavyarms had disappeared in light and fire and he had rushed to pick up the thing he had assumed would be a corpse. In the last conversation they had had, which had been a week ago, his ally had pretty much accused him of being biased against people who were somewhat lacking in the normal number of limbs. This had been a shock, more surprise that the statement had been so blunt than hurt or offense that the boy would make such claims. The Japanese pilot had given this much contemplation –it had, in fact, been the only thing occupying his mind other than his duties caring for the place they were staying in and the brunette that was so displeased with him. Emotions were a hindrance, so he buried most of them as much as he could, but this was something that he was concerned about, and not just because biases could cause a mistake in judgment, which could, in turn, cause a failed mission. 

                What he had learned about himself was that Trowa had been right. The thought had not occurred to him that the green-eyed pilot could eventually be just as proficient as he had been before in piloting, or even that he could do something other than be taken care of. He was no genius when it came to relationships with other people, but he was not too ignorant to realize that this opinion was hurtful. And he was shamed to know that he had taken up this attitude during the time that Trowa would be most in need of psychological support. He had been mistaken, and his conscience was making sure he felt appropriately guilty about it.

                But was it really too late? He had not helped the boy regain strength, he had not guided him through any rehabilitation exercises, he had been judgmental, and he had not attempted to convey his concern for the pilot. However, they were still living together, and he did not have his mobile suit repaired, which gave him an excuse to stay, which in turn gave him time to patch things up with Trowa. Burningly, another realization came upon him.

                _I…I don't want Trowa to dislike me. And as much as I try to hide or bury my emotions, I'm starting to fail. I don't want to be alone my entire life._

                It was a thought that was both terrifying and wonderful at the same time. 

* * * *

                He announced his presence with a knock on the door shortly before entering it, plate of dinner in hand. The other boy had not eaten all day, and must be hungry by now. Heero decided to explain himself to his ally right then and there; it had been weighing on his mind for a while, and he was eager to get rid of the burden. 

                "Trowa-"

                "You should go." 

                "Oh. I'll be downstairs if you need anything." He had not expected this, and was taken aback by the obviously abrupt tone in the green-eyed pilot.

                "That's not what I meant. You should leave the apartment." 

                Heero buried the hurt that the order caused long before it surfaced. "What will you do alone?" 

                "I'll be fine." 

                "You haven't been in any shape to go anywhere, so we didn't even bother with a wheelchair. How will you get around?" 

                "You could get one for me. I'll stay here and work on getting ready for prosthetic legs. It's all I've been doing all day lately." This was true. Trowa's exercises had been getting ever more frequent.  

"And if something happens?" 

"You have a war to fight." 

"It would be safer if I stayed." The Japanese boy tried to look his ally in the face, but Trowa refused to meet his gaze, the faint traces of a blush creeping up his cheeks. 

"No. It…it's time for me to stop being so selfish." 

"Selfish?" Heero was confused. 

Trowa looked up at the ceiling, uneasy. It was time to admit everything, but the idea of doing so scared him out of his mind; he wasn't used to speaking much, and definitely wasn't used to speaking openly. Then there was the fact that the last actual conversation they had had was humiliating, and caused this situation in the first place. He sighed –better to get this over with as soon as possible…and to resist the urge to scream. 

"I realized that my statement to you the other day was over the line," he said tonelessly. "And then I realized what a pain I was being. You didn't have to pick me up off of that battlefield, but you did, and then you made sure I didn't die. You've been going out of your way to be helpful ever since. I let you because I needed it, and because…because no one has ever done that for me before. Ever. But it was selfish. I'm a liability. You haven't even had time to repair Wing Zero. And what happened to me doesn't matter. I was expendable –I'm just a fluke, it was only because the original pilot died that I got to take the mobile suit. But OZ still has to be annihilated. So I'll stop imposing on you." 

Heero walked over to the blushing boy and sat down next to him. Neither of them was enjoying this. And now it was his turn; Trowa had bared his soul to be judged, and the time had come for him to do the same, no matter how much it frightened them. 

"You aren't imposing. And I…I liked the break from fighting. We all thought you had died instantly. I was just going to burn or bury your corpse, because it was unfitting to just leave it there. But then you lived. I took care of you to pay back the debt I owed…but then I started doing it for different reasons. I…I…I don't want you to hate me. And I learned that I'm tired of being alone. So that's why I stayed. And I'm sorry that my prejudices got in the way of giving you the help that you really needed." And now _he_ was blushing. 

"This is embarrassing. I feel so idiotic." 

"Same. So what now?" 

Trowa shrugged. 

"You were right about one thing." 

"What is that?" 

"I do have a war to fight. I can't ignore it just because I feel a little lonely." 

"I understand." Trowa's own desire for companionship, his desperation to get back in the cockpit, and his hatred of seeing only himself in the mirror -instead of a carefully constructed mask- could not be allowed to further hinder the other boy.

"But if it's alright with you, I'll stay until I'm sure you'll be safe on your own." 

"That's fine." Relief surged through him, and he felt shamed at it. Outwardly, his face was carefully impassive.

Heero nodded, and got up. When he reached the door, the other boy called out again. 

"Heero." 

"What?" 

"I…you don't have to be lonely." It was an offer of friendship; something that Trowa had given only a couple times in his life.

"Thank you." 

The Japanese pilot left, cheeks still red, and Heavyarms' pilot was left to himself. The emerald-eyed boy sighed. He felt like a child –hell, he _sounded_ like a child, and just as stupid. But it couldn't be helped; a lifetime spent focused only on killing people had left him with little social skills. 

* * * *

                Blue light shone in the darkened room, illuminating the face sitting in front of it. For the first time in several months, Heero was making contact with the outside world –Not Dr. J, of course; he hated the manipulative bastard, and the only communication between the two of them were when he received orders for new missions and when he sent mission reports. He couldn't deny a certain sense of anticipation running through his veins; he had been putting his duty on hold for months now, and could not be sure how the other pilots would respond, now that he had decided to return to battle. And if he was to be truly honest with himself, no matter how uneasy the truth made him, he felt a bit of excitement at the prospect of fighting again.

* * * *

                All three pilots helped Howard with the repairs to Quatre's Gundam. The blond Arabian was in much better spirits, knowing that his weapons were being restored. 

                "Howard, you're god," the boy joked.

                "Not a god, just a mechanic who happens to have some useful supplies. But you're welcome to leave me some offerings." 

                "I'll give you anything you want, as long as Sandrock gets battle-ready again. We're almost done, aren't we?" 

                "Yeah. The armor is completely done. You do some fine tuning in the cockpit –make sure it's reaction speed and visuals are good, things like that- and I'll fix the sickles. All in all, it should only take two or three more days." 

                "I can't thank you enough. If there's anything I can do…" 

                "No, no. Just doing my part. It's the least I can do, seeing as I can't pilot the things." 

                Quatre smiled, azure eyes shining. As much as he had loved not having to fight, he felt much more secure knowing that his mobile suit would be ready, and that he was doing his part to uphold the missions. It would feel good to be able to fight for the colonies again. Howard had come surprisingly quickly, and the repairs, too, were moving along much faster than he thought they would. Soon he would be fighting OZ once again, for the welfare of the colonies. That thought brought back the memory of his last battle, and a brief pain shot through him as he remembered Heavyarms' pilot. Perhaps if his weapons hadn't snapped, the boy would still be alive….

                But Quatre refused to allow himself to continue on that mindset. Duo was right; what was done was done, and he could not allow his personal feelings to get in the way. And it was also true that Trowa was the lucky one, seeing as how he did not have to kill people anymore. The Arabian was determined to only focus on the pleasant memories, instead of the sorrowful ones. 

* * * *

                Wufei turned on his laptop, intending to hack into OZ's files in order to get more of the plans he and the American had been researching during their time at the base. He also wanted to make absolutely sure that the information he had was correct; fighting an army of mobile dolls made out of Gundanium Alloy would be a nightmare. More than that: he and the other pilots wouldn't have a chance. 

                He was halfway through his task when the familiar beeping sounded. Immediately he stopped what he was doing and opened the message. To his surprise, though, it was not from his usual 'correspondent.' It was from Heero. His breath caught in his throat, wondering what the boy would have to say after all this time. Was something wrong? He opened the message. It was short, but the information it provided was staggering.

_05: Preparing to repair weapon and aid mission once again. Please send me update on mission progress so far, and future plans. 03 is alive. At 03's request, do not give that information to 02 and 04.    -01_

"03 is alive," he whispered. "He's alive. I knew it. I _knew_ it." 

Yes, he had tried to believe that as much as he could, but hearing it from someone else who knew for a fact the truth in the statement was still extremely shocking. He felt something akin to joy welling up inside of him, and was surprised that his reaction was so strong. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the Chinese pilot smiled. 

                He sent every bit of information he had, wondering how soon it would be until Heero returned with the Wing Zero. The boy found that it made him happy knowing that the stern pilot was joining the battle once again. And then he wondered why there was no mention of Trowa returning, too. Heavyarms was destroyed, of course, but there wasn't even any statement about the boy even being curious as to the state of his Gundam. That brought up another question: why did the pilot want the news of his survival kept confidential? The answer was clear in only a few moments. Trowa was extremely perceptive, perhaps the most perceptive of them all. The boy would have known that Duo and Quatre would get over his 'death' quickly, while it would take longer for him to do so. 

                Wufei felt momentary pity for his ally; it must be depressing knowing that your fellow pilots had gotten over you and would always be distant, even if they were told that you were alive. But the feeling was gone almost as quickly as it had come, because he knew that Trowa would hate his pity. 

                Heero was coming back.

                And Trowa was alive.

 


End file.
